


Cowboys and Confessions

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Ab Aeterno [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Cowboys, Curses, Dehumanization, Detective Stiles, Friends to Lovers, Grad Student Scott, Historical Fantasy, Immortality, M/M, Manipulation, ProScott, Reincarnation, Rough Sex, Sciles, Shameless Smut, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Smut, U.S. Marshal Scott, Violence, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has found purpose as a U.S. Marshal, traveling the wild west and bringing the law to chaotic frontier towns as he hunts for Theo. Sheriff Stilinski gave him a reason to stop his endless wandering, at least until the murders started again.</p><p>In the present, Scott and Stiles know that the Blind Man killer has been watching them and craft a trap of their own.</p><p>A part of Ab Aeterno, a love story across lifetimes and throughout history between two idiot best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowboys and Confessions

“Fuck!”

Scott’s body sang with pain, bruises darkening along his skin and his jaw already swelling, but he couldn’t keep from laughing. The brawl had been a short lived, a few drunken cowhands causing trouble in the saloon again. Nothing a U.S. Marshal couldn’t handle, especially with the local sheriff at his side. His heart was still racing, adrenaline flooding through him and he couldn’t deny that he loved it. It was getting harder and harder to feel anything at all, he didn’t want to waste it.

He stumbled up the stairs of the boarding house in too much of a hurry to be careful and trying to get the door open before the man behind him crashed into him. They tumbled into the room. The Sheriff slammed the door closed and shoved Scott against the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Scott cursed again as he was pinned, tearing at the Sheriff’s clothes in his eagerness to get his hands on the other man’s body. He kissed him hard, hungry, with the scrape of stubble against his cheek and accidentally knocked the Sheriff’s hat to the ground.

Stiles pulled back with an almost scandalized look and Scott could have slapped him. “My hat!”

Scott bared his teeth and curled his hand roughly around the other man’s crotch through his pants to make Stiles groan. “You gonna worry about your hat or are you gonna fuck me?”

It was all the invitation he needed. Even though they were practically the same height, Stiles lifted Scott against the wall, wrapping the Marshal’s legs around his body as he ground his hips down. His belt buckle dug into Scott’s stomach, but it was nothing compared to the needy ache between his legs. 

“I can do both,” the Sheriff whispered, right against the soft swell of his partner’s mouth just to make Scott snarl. The Marshal was pretty roughed up. Stiles could forgive him for not noticing the glaring height difference between them. Then Scott dragged his fingers through Stiles’s hair, yanking him into a bruising kiss, and Stiles stepped on his hat in his haste to get his partner to bed. They never made it that far.

They kissed until Scott was breathless, squirming in Stiles’s grip for more and too impatient for romance or seduction. He yanked the sheriff’s shirt up over his head, nails scoring sharp red marks down the man’s pale back to goad him. “Come  _on_!” 

Stiles slammed Scott into their rickety old table, licking a moan straight off his tongue. Clothes flew in every direction, forgotten the moment Stiles could get his hands on warm skin. Eager fingers traced down the inside of Scott’s thigh, muscles tensing beneath him, and Stiles couldn’t stop touching.

“Christ, look at you.” Stiles rasped, 

“You better do a whole lot more than look, Sheriff.”

Scott was the reason Stiles couldn’t look anyone in the eye when they called him that. Stiles groaned as he pulled in, grinding hard against his partner, his cock dragging across the long line of Scott’s shaft. He smeared precum between them, breathing hard and so desperate for more. They were just getting started.

“Hold those for me, sweetheart,” he crooned, pushing Scott’s knees up until the other man was bent in half, put on display like a tipsy salon girl. Scott snapped at him, teeth bared in a vicious snarl, but when Stiles sank into his tight, slick heat, his mouth fell open in a breathless sigh.

There wasn’t time enough for sweet and tender, there wasn’t ever any  _time_.  He could always feel it slipping by with terrifying speed and clutched desperately at anything that could make it slow. Scott’s legs trembled as he tried to keep his legs apart, flesh whitening as his hands dug into his own thighs. It was vulnerable and exposed, but he loved how reckless they could be as if the years hadn’t changed them at all.

The table creaked with every violent thrust as Stiles fucked him without rhythm, just the urgent need for release. The Sheriff draped his body across his partner, licking the sweat from Scott’s neck. He was greedy, his body clenched hard around Stiles’s thick cock and it was almost too much. Stiles would have spent himself like a teenager already if he wasn’t so determined to make Scott scream.

“So eager for me.” Stiles panted, watching Scott’s eyes roll back as his head thunked hard on the table.  “God, you’re so pretty.”

“Shut up!” If Stiles had breath enough to speak, he wasn’t doing his damn job. Scott couldn’t hold himself open anymore, letting his legs close around Stiles’s hips and digging his heels into the other man’s ass like he was spurring a horse. He twisted his fingers painfully into the Sheriff’s hair and pulled him down, biting his sinful lips hard enough to bleed. With a frustrated moan, he sucked the warm metallic taste from his partner’s mouth to claim him, writing his name across Stiles’s skin.

Stiles could feel his control slipping through his grasp, thread by thread, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was losing himself in the feel of his partner’s body. Surrender never felt so good, pleasure coursing through his veins, until it crawled through his skin, across his heaving chest and up his neck, spilling into his open mouth. He was a drowning man, a damned soul. Scott drew him in and he couldn’t escape, but he never asked for him to stop. His knees buckled, under their punishing pace. Stiles left bruises across taut muscle and velvet skin, drawing a map of what was his, where he’d been. What he owned.

Scott’s back bowed in a graceful arch, and Stiles never got any warning. He was pushed back, crashing heavily into the rickety chair behind them, his body tensed under his lover’s command. The gleam in Scott’s eyes left him in the best sort of agony. Stiles couldn’t look away as his wicked tongue peaked out from behind kiss-swollen lips, licking the razor sharp curve of his smile. Scott’s hands gripped Stiles’s shoulders for leverage, and the Sheriff’s settled helplessly around his tiny waist, moaning long and low as Scott fucked himself on his cock. Impossibly, achingly tight, his clutch squeezed along Stiles’s thick shaft, whimpering broken animal sounds as Scott bore down on him again and again. Scott never thought he could feel this full, this  _used_ , and he was so greedy for more.

“That’s it that’s it, baby, oh yeah fuck Scott yeah,” Stiles slurred, words tangling together in an incoherent mess. He looked at Scott like he’d hung the stars, guiding him down as he speared himself on his cock. Scott trembled in his lap, a gorgeous, writhing mess.

“I wanna to see you cum.”

A line of sweat slid down Scott’s back as he rolled his hips, taking Stiles as deep as he could. The only sounds were their ragged breathing, quiet wordless whines and the wet slap of skin against skin. This was rushed and artless, Stiles’s mouth still tasted like whiskey, his skin smelled like leather and dust. The sheriff’s hands dug into his hipbones hard enough to hurt and Scott gasped for more.

Scott was sure he was begging, even if he couldn’t find the words. Thought devolved into the basest of needs.  _More, more, don’t stop, god please, more!_ He wrapped a hand around himself, easing the pulsing ache in his balls with a few firm strokes. He squeezed tighter, cock drooling down his slick fingers and smearing across Stiles’s stomach. Everything was so close, body pulled wire tight and ready to snap. “Stiles!” He hoped he was using the right name, sometimes it was so hard to remember.

The Marshal bit down hard on the curve of Stiles’s neck to stifle his wail, cum splattering across the other man’s chest. It caught in his partner’s chest hair, warm drips sliding down pale skin as Scott spent himself with a groan. Stiles cupped his hands around Scott’s legs, lifting his pliant, limp body up to better fuck into his tight ass. It didn’t take much as Scott bowed back in his hands, meeting each frantic thrust until the Sheriff gave a choked cry. He buried himself in Scott, balls tensing as he filled his best friend’s hole with cum that dripped down perfect tanned thighs. Stiles slumped back in the chair as Scott dragged his fingers through their mess, licking each one clean with a tired smile.

“Thanks for the ride, cowboy.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I guess you could say, I got a long little doggie.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.” Stiles grunted, pursing his lips, but Scott was boneless in his arms, and laughing against collarbone. He scowled at his Marshal, tracing his fingers down the bruise on cheek until Scott turned into him and kissed his palm, “Urgh. You gotta stop doing this to yourself, kid.”

“I wasn’t the one who picked up a chair first.”

“No, you were the one who charged an armed man first. You have to be more careful, Scott.” 

Scott was willing to bet he was the reason there were so many wrinkles on the Sheriff’s brow. He still kissed the tip of Stiles’s nose and rested their foreheads together as he murmured, “I’m okay, all right? You can’t get any more up my ass than you already are, Stiles.”

The Sheriff scowled, and when he lifted Scott into his arms, his partner went with a dramatic squeal, exhaling deeply as he was moved. Everything was sleepy and slow. Stiles all but threw Scott into their bed, leaving the other man spinning. Scott kept these moments close to his chest, nuzzling into his partner once Stiles was close enough to hold, stretched out on the lumpy old cot with  a contented sigh because the next morning, when he stepped into their office, it would be business as usual.

Kansas was hot in the summer and Caldwell was a dusty little cow town that had sprung up along the Chisholm Trail where ranchers drove their cattle on the long trip from Texas. They were far away from the civilization and cities of the east. Out here, life was hard and the law seemed like more of a suggestion. Scott had tracked Theo across the frontier before losing the trail again, joining the U.S. Marshals to try and use their network of officers to help with his search. Instead, he found a purpose for the first time in so many years. He could help people like this, defend victims, stand up to criminals and bandits who terrorized the vulnerable, and bring a little order to the chaotic little towns that sprung up out of nowhere. It was dangerous work for wild men, but only for those who could be touched by death needed to worry.

He’d planned on wandering across the west until he picked up Theo’s trail again, or maybe until he found the ocean way out in California territory. They said it was beautiful and Scott hadn’t been back since the land was owned by the Spanish decades before. He hadn’t meant to stay longer than a few days in this little town in Kansas, but the local sheriff had been overwhelmed with a gang of murders and horse thieves in the area. He’d stayed long enough to track them down and bring the men to justice, but there were always more. Fights and attacks and rustlers, trouble followed the ranchers and the Civil War veterans who passed through town. Any time you gave lonely, angry men too much to drink, people got hurt. Their sheriff was a transplant from out east, still trying to adjust to life in a lawless frontier town and Scott didn’t want to leave until things had settled. Two years later, the town was marginally safer and the sheriff shared his bed in secret.

It wasn’t easy, but it was good and more importantly, Scott had found a place that made him feel alive even though his Sheriff believed Scott’s recklessness meant he had some kind of death wish. He shot his partner a grin and tipped his Stetson before sitting heavily in one of the sheriff office’s wooden chairs and throwing his boots up on the other man’s desk. “You eat anything yet today, Sheriff? I’m famished, we should grab something at Belle’s before the crowd rolls in.”

Stiles frowned, already preparing to head out, torn between chastising his partner and not wanting to sound like his old man. “You stepped on my hat, kid. Ruin my desk and I’ll arrest you.”

Scott glanced over his shoulder quickly, before dropping his voice to a quiet hush. “As I recall, my feet weren’t anywhere near the ground all night.”

Stiles’s frown intensified.

It was bad enough that Stiles had fallen into bed with a reckless greenhorn who was going to get himself killed before he could properly grow his whiskers out. There was something about Scott that threatened to send him graying before his time. He’d welcomed the Marshal’s help when he first rode into town like a white knight, despite how much he hated to admit that he’d lost control of the situation. But Scott had a tendency of stepping in the path of bullets and punches, with a disregard for his own safety that in the quiet moments they shared in their bed, with only the rise and fall of Scott’s steady breathing to keep him company, left Stiles scared.

“Relax, partner, you didn’t come out here to die,” he’d said once. Scott laughed at him, told him he wasn’t good enough to die young. Stiles still wondered if Scott had any idea how serious he had been. It was almost embarrassing. Growing up, Stiles thought he’d been a risk taker, too.. Now he was frequently torn between wanting to push Scott’s limits and horrified at how far they actually were, sometimes he wondered if they existed at all. Christ, he’d turned into his dad.

There was something wild about the other man. Something sharp and wicked, even if his eyes were kind and smile playful. It helped draw him supporters in their quiet community. More than once, Stiles had been approached with offers to marry Scott to one of the few local girls in town, just to give him a more tangible reason to stay. He thought about it more often than he should have. Scott’s life would be so much easier, so much more  _right_ , if he had a proper family to come home to.

There was enough work though to keep Scott busy. For now, that was reason enough for him to stay. “We have to get real work done. You just missed John’s boy. They found something over at their ranch that’s urgent. We might not’ve seen the last of the O'Malley gang.”

“The O’Malleys again, really?” That got Scott’s attention and he leaned forward, boots hitting the floor. The gang was a band of drunks and rapists, the worst sort of bad that the west seemed to breed. They were angry men who thought they were entitled to anything they put their hands on, confident that they were far enough from civilization to never have to pay for their crimes. He grinned at the Sheriff, a little too eagerly. They really did make a good team.

He never meant to make his partner worry, but the years had taken their toll on Scott and worn him down until his sharpest edges were exposed. Out here, he could be free again like he hadn’t since he was a captain of his own ship with the entire ocean spread before him. The gently rolling plains even swayed like waves and deadly storms could sweep down without notice, battering the land as hard as any hurricane. Scott had started to drift, disconnected from humanity and numb after so long. The only way to feel, to be truly human again was the rush of adrenaline and danger. Things like fear or bravery didn’t mean anything to a man who had nothing worth risking.

Stiles was older, or so he thought. Scott hadn’t shared his past, though explaining away bullet holes and stab wounds was getting harder the longer he stayed. It was strange to see the friend who’d always shoved him headlong into trouble as the one who now tried to hold him back, but everyone grew up. Almost everyone. Stiles still had that eye for trouble, he wouldn’t have taken this job if he didn’t and Scott loved it when they faced overwhelming odds side by side. He never wanted his partner to get hurt, but when Stiles would pull him down afterwards, weight digging into bruised flesh to fuck him until Scott screamed, it was perfect.

“They found a body down at the farm, a real mess.” Stiles buckled his gunbelt around his hips and gestured for Scott to join him. “Doesn’t look like a shootout. Sam said his pa found the body this morning and wants us to take a look before bringing it back to the coroner. Poor bastard, dying in a ditch on some ranch doesn’t sound appealing.”

“Then I guess we better go check it out and do our jobs, huh?” Scott’s hands twitched to help his friend buckle his belt, but he restrained himself. They had to be careful here, freedom was only for those who could keep secrets.

Stiles leveled a finger at the ‘younger’ man. “You gonna actually follow my lead instead of charging straight into the middle of a fight this time? Just because your face ain’t swollen this morning doesn’t mean I didn’t watch you take a punch or six last night.”

“You’re just assuming there’s gonna be a fight. C’mon, Sheriff. You always have to be so slow?” He laughed as Stiles’s expression soured.

“I feel sorry for your horse, kid. It’s got an ass coming and going.”

Scott stuck his tongue out and didn’t feel the slightest bit bad about the way Stiles swatted at him.

The morning just started and the heat was already sweltering. It made for a hard ride, and a harder crime scene to take in. They didn’t need Farmer John’s help to find the site. Scott swore they could smell it worse than they could the pigs. The Sheriff had facts to verify, that the family didn’t recognize the poor unlucky soul and that they hadn’t noticed anything unusual on their property. John was in a tizzy, furious that something like this could happen on his own land, but the moment Scott got a good look at the corpse, it ceased to matter. Everything did.

Eyeless sockets stared up at him from a face contorted in pain, and Scott couldn’t breathe.

“Nasty business,” the Sheriff said, shaking his head as they looked the corpse over. “Doesn’t look like the O’Malley had anything to do with this one. There’s not a decent son of a bitch among that bunch, but this isn’t their style.” They’d worked many difficult cases together; in the West, there was no shortage of those, but Stiles had never seen Scott hold himself so taut before. He held his shoulders so stiffly with his features set in stern concentration, it was like he was life breathed into chiseled stone.

“We’re not dealing with them, Sheriff.” They weren’t dealing with anyone human. 

“Mhmm. Now I don’t recognize the Vic. Couldn’t have been someone around town, at least no one who stayed any while worth remembered. He doesn’t look like he’s been dead all that long, but the coroner will have to have his say.”

Blood beat so loudly in Scott’s ears that he couldn’t hear a word his partner said. He knelt carefully by the body, looking for any kind of identification. He was on the younger side, tanned dark with rough hands and worn boots. A working man, one of the hundreds that passed through town every week. A necklace around his neck held a lock of hair, no doubt from some woman who would wait for him to come back without ever hearing a word. There was dirt under his fingernails and the faintest shine of…gold?

Stiles watched the Marshal quietly, always disturbed with how quickly the young man could flip the switch from laughing, brave fool to someone so cold and unnaturally focused. He was a lawman, he was trained to notice things and there was something off about Scott even if he tried to keep it hidden. Scott never talked about where he’d come from or what he’d been through, but Stiles could see it in his eyes sometimes and it worried him.

“Once the Doc gets here, we need to get back to town and send a telegraph out to nearby towns. I’d bet money on the fact this killer’s dropped more bodies in the area, it might help us figure out where he’s going.”

Stiles hooked his thumbs into his belt and didn’t press the issue. He was used to dealing with liars every day of the week, there was other ways of getting the truth. The coroner arrived within the hour, clucking his tongue at the heat and examining the body before loading it in the back of his wagon. Another nameless marker in the graveyard, at least he was never out of a job. Stiles and Scott rode back with the doctor, saying little in the midday heat until they’d gotten back to town. The Sheriff went immediately to the telegraph office and Scott disappeared.

He had to move quickly and he took only what he could carry wrapped tight in his bedroll. Guns and a few supplies, the rest he’d make do. This was one crime that Stiles couldn’t help with, not again. Theo must have known he was here to leave that body for him to find, it was an invitation and Scott was going to take it. He tied down his saddle bags and left town quietly, urging his horse into a gallop once they’d reached the ends of the dusty streets and out into the open wilds. He pushed his horse as hard as he could until the sun started to set and the creature’s flank was soaked in sweat. Any farther in this weather and he risked riding the horse to death and stranding himself. Sighing heavily, he set up a small camp by a little creek, cooling down his animal and settled in for the night.

Drowsing a few hours later, he almost missed the quiet sound of movement outside of the small glow of light from his campfire. Scott stood quickly, hand on the hilt of his gun as he peered out into the darkness. Enemy or animal? He couldn’t quite tell, he’d been too tired to pay attention. Rope whipped through the air and pulled tight around Scott’s body before he could draw, sending him crashing down into the dirt with a yelp. Stiles yanked on the end of the lasso as he dismounted from his horse with a dark scowl.

“You goin’ somewhere, Marshal?”

“Stiles!” Scott wailed, his features twisting in anger and a terrified sort of dread. Stiles couldn’t be here, it was too dangerous! But before he could inch worm his way out of the ropes biting into his skin, his partner dropped on him like a stone, straddling his hips. For one, infuriating moment, smug satisfaction flickered across Stiles’s face. It faded into tired concern, and he flicked Scott on the forehead, intentionally playful, just to surprise the anger out of the other man.

“I know you were way too busy last night to be doin’ anything you shouldn’t have - except for what you already shouldn’t have, so you’n’I are gonna have a nice little talk about what sent you runnin’ out of town like a bat outta Hell.”

“Stiles, let go of me!”

Stiles adjusted his belt, hoisted himself further across the other man’s hips, and tipped his hat back as he thought about it. “Uh. No.”

“Stiles, this is serious!”

“I know.” The Sheriff’s expression was abruptly stern. “That’s why you can’t do this alone. I’m not a blind man, Scott. Is he after you? Whatever bastard is responsible for all this.” He moved back, but slowly, being absolutely unhelpful as Scott pushed himself into a sitting position. “You’re gonna tell me, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m not the one trussed up like a pig. Start talking.”

Scott tugged experimentally at the rope still knotted tightly around his body and sighed. Stupid, stubborn idiot! No matter how many lifetimes they lived or what experiences shaped him, he never changed. He was always determined to play the dedicated knight right to the last. It had gotten him killed before and it would do it again if Scott couldn’t stop it. The Marshal was going to have to say something, Stiles was too perceptive for most lies, but he weighed the truth against everything he could lose.

“I was tracking a killer before I met you, that’s what brought me through town.” Scott said carefully, picking his way around the lies. “I’ve been following him for a while and I…I got close a couple of times, but I’ve never been able to corner him. He disappears for years at a time sometimes and I lost him. I didn’t think he’d circle back around.”

“And you think he came back lookin’ for you?”

Scott cursed under his breath at the Sheriff’s deduction. “Probably not, but I couldn’t take the chance. It’s  _dangerous_ , Stiles. This guy is no joke. He’s not some drunk cowhand or some pissed off drifter, he’s twisted.”

Stiles pulled Scott’s hat down over his face and smacked the top of his head. “You think I don’t know how to handle myself? You think I haven’t worried about the same damn thing with all self-sacrificing, impulsive bullshit you’ve done the past two years? You’ve got a death wish, kid. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“You don’t understand…”

“Yeah, I do. You’re worried and I appreciate it, but we’ve done this together for this long that if we end it, we do that together too.” He loosened the rope, pulling it up over his friend’s head and coiling it back at his side. “If you run again, I’m going to tie you to your saddle.”

Scott pushed up his hat, scowling up at the Sheriff from beneath its brim. Stiles grinned, unperturbed, but his arms wound around Scott’s waist, dragging him into a clumsy hug. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Scott’s mouth, rubbing down the long line of his back, and the immortal melted against him, sighing tiredly as he leaned into his Sheriff. “You shouldn’t have done this. You never change, Stiles.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna walk into a trap, at least you won’t do it alone.” Scott snorted, trying to squirm away. Stiles refused to let him go, but that was a problem they’d been having for a long time now. “Go to sleep, kid. I got first watch for tonight. That way I can make sure you don’t run off, too.”

“I let you catch me, Sheriff.”

That was a lie. They both knew it was though, so that was okay.

Stiles took a whole lot more than first watch, but when Scott woke up to warm beans for breakfast and the warm press of another body before the sun could show its face, he was hard pressed to argue.

“Riding to the mines, huh?” Stiles asked, between mouthfuls. “Or you going even farther east. Not much out there in this direction. Business is dryin’ up over there, but you still got a couple of hopeless saps who think they’ll strike it big if they keep pickin’ at dirt. Those caverns go on forever. Lots of room for bad business.”

Scott nodded, albeit a hint reluctantly. “They might not be all wrong. Saw something like gold under our vic’s fingernails. Killer’d need the space and the time to work.”

“We need to be on our way then. No sense in us starving to death before a big shootout.”

Scott didn’t know how to tell him they’d need more than just bullets to stop a monster. “Okay, but I’m calling this one, Stiles. You follow my lead. This is my case. We go where I say. I’m bringing him in. If I tell you to run, you run.”

“You’ve got it, Marshal.” Stiles didn’t mean a word, but at least it eased some of Scott’s worries.

They rode together as light spilled over the land, bantering back and forth until Scott had to laugh. He was grateful for the distraction and it felt good to be moving again. The hunt was back on and Theo was just within his reach, he only hoped that they’d be able to take on whatever trap was no doubt in store for them. Maybe with a partner, the odds had finally tipped back into Scott’s favor. They stopped in a little mining town close to Dodge City, a few scattered shops and surveyors before any scraps of precious metal were shipped out to larger cities. There hadn’t been much luck here in decades, the gold rush moving further out west. But stubborn prospectors refused to let go of the dying town, convinced they’d strike it rich any day.

The town was too small to even rate its own sheriff so Scott chatted up the bartender in the almost empty saloon while Stiles gathered a few provisions from the local general goods store. Prospectors protected their claims fiercely, no one knew where all the mines were hidden, but there were a few abandoned shafts that the bartender pointed the men to with warnings about rotting support beams and dangerous pitfalls. None of that mattered, Theo was the biggest danger out there.

The two men followed the trail outside of town, carefully picking their way through overgrown paths before the found the first boarded up entrance tucked in the slope of a low hill. Scott dismounted and kicked the rotted wood blocking the way in, sending up a puff of dust. It didn’t look like anyone had come this way, but the bracelet around Scott’s wrist felt hot. There was something in the air that set him on edge. “This doesn’t look dangerous at  _all_. You’re still free to pull out, old man. Head back to town, I’ll catch up with you in a few days.”

Stiles cuffed his partner on the side of his head. “You didn’t want me to pull out the other night, I’m not doin’ it now.”

They had their lanterns and their helmets, but Stiles took one moment longer to take a glance at the bright light of day. It wasn’t that he didn’t think they’d make it out alive. It was just that there was a very real chance that he might end up missing daylight. The cavern was long and winding. Every turn had just as much chance of being spacious and airy, as it did cramped and uncomfortable.

Light flickered in the corner of the Sheriff’s eye, something brighter than even their lanterns. Scott was crouching by a peculiar splatter of stains by his heel, splattered in the dirt. “Hold on, partner, is that?”

“Blood. Yeah.”

“Don’t suppose your pal could’ve left us a trail of puppies to follow.”

“I’ll bring it up next time I see him. Maybe he’ll take suggestions.” Scott’s smile was brittle, painfully forced. The urge to reach out then and hold him nearly knocked the Sheriff over. He was convinced that he could smuggle Scott away, from everything; maybe they’d leave the west entirely. Stiles had family back in New York who might take him, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d find a way to cross the sea. Dread settled over his bones, thick and viscous like oil, but he did his best to stick to Scott’s back. The Marshal moved like a man possessed, but whether it was God’s hand or the Devil’s, Stiles had no way of knowing.

They walked for hours or days, or maybe just a handful of minutes. Time ceased to have meaning. Guided only by his lamp and his bracelet, Scott trudged on in tunnels that blurred together, following a path burned by black magic that no human could see. As they progressed, the sound of running water got louder and louder. The idea that they might never be able to find their way out didn’t cross his mind. If Scott found his target,  _everything_ ended here.

“Pace yourself.” The Sheriff ordered from behind, reaching out to grab Scott just before they came across a wooden platform. “It’s easy to get lost down here.”

Scott shook his head. “We’re close, Stiles. I know it. We just have to be ready.”

The tunnels opened up to a sweeping caverns, cut in half by a steadily flowing stream. With a heavy heart, Scott realized they found where their miner had been murdered, on a blood-stained stone on the edge of the water. It looked almost like an altar.

This deep underground, no one would’ve heard their victim scream.

Scott swallowed his horror, tucking it away with a hundred lifetimes of nightmares. He’d always known that Theo was a monster, but there was something so deliberate and  _wrong_  about this place. The opals tucked in his pocket burned an angry red and the air felt heavy with whatever unnatural thing Theo had done. It made the Marshal sick to his stomach.

Kneeling by the stone alter, the Sheriff kept his own counsel and studied the blood spattered rock. If this was the kind of killer that his partner had followed out West, no wonder it haunted him. He wondered if this was the thing that weighed him down, giving him a sense of sadness that was much too old for such a young man. “You think he’s still down here?”

“I don’t know.” It would be too much to hope, but if Theo had left that body for him to find, then it was possible. Or maybe it was just part of the game that never seemed to end.

Stiles stood, brushing off the dust from his knees and swung his lantern around the cavern. It was big and if the blood trail stopped here, then he needed to find another way to track their target. His thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble, the only warning they had before the lantern was knocked from his hand and the old mine ceiling collapsed in on them. Scott barely had time to shout an alarm before he was crushed, ribs breaking under the weight and lungs filling with soot.

He woke later with a gasp, dragged back into life and woozy as he blinked at the too-bright glare of lanterns set along the cavern walls. His head felt thick and fuzzy, something sticky and wet matting down his hair. Scott groaned and tried to move, finding himself held fast not by rocks, but by chains. “S-Stilesss?” The name was slurred as he relearned how to talk.

“That your friend’s name?” Another voice cut in and Scott squinted at the unfamiliar man, young and clearly terrified, who sat bound to a post in front of him. The man jerked his head towards a figure still lying prone on the ground.

“Stiles!” Scott yanked on the chains in panic. He could still see the slight rise and fall of his partner’s chest in the pooled lantern light, but he couldn’t tell how badly the other man was hurt.

“Shhhh…” The other captive murmured. “You don’t know when  _he’ll_  be back.”

Realization clicked with painful clarity. He could feel the blood draining from his face as fear cut through Scott’s mind, colder than ice and more painful than a thousand knives. He couldn’t control the way his heart raced, the air around him suddenly thin as he struggled to breathe. He hated himself for it, and he hated how slowly anger replaced terror. Shame came soon enough. Theo was always prepared, even when Scott thought he was the one in pursuit. This was all part of the madman’s twisted game, but the stakes were too high, and Scott couldn’t stop himself from tugging on his restraints.

“Hey, quit it!” 

Scott almost didn’t hear him, fighting to swallow down the lump in his throat that left him wheezing and his chest throbbing. He couldn’t do this again. Theo couldn’t have him again. Scott knew all too well what would happen if he did. He curled into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible as he tried to force air into his lungs with shuddering grasps. 

The other prisoner’s tone shifted, laced with concern and a morbid sort of curiosity that Scott wouldn’t need their vicious captor to help him into the afterlife. “Hey, hey come on now. You ah… I reckon neither of us are gonna be anywhere near okay, but you can’t die yet.” 

Scott would have given a lot to be able to.

He came back to himself slowly, trying his best to will away the painful bands of steel that settled around his lungs. Lightheaded and drifting, he chastised himself for losing control, but that didn’t make the ache in his chest subside or his trembling hands settle. In the quiet of his mind, Scott apologized to the dead who could no longer hear him. He could spend the rest of his life apologizing, but Scott knew it would never be enough.

“I’m okay,” he forced himself to say. He had to convince himself first before he convinced anyone else.

“Just - just stay still. It’ll be over soon enough,” the stranger said, cold comfort at its finest. There was a hurried quality to his voice, almost like he was surprised he was allowed to talk at all. “There used to be more of us. Then he just… You know.” 

Scott knew. He turned towards the rest of his room, forcing his mind to focus on anything else. It didn’t work, but he had to try. They were bound in a corner of a spacious cavern, and hidden in Scott’s pocket, his seemingly harmless bracelet burned against his thigh. The air was damp and dank, thick enough to settle over Scott’s skin. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the niches Theo had used in stone became clearer. They were covered in glass jars, meticulously labeled. Aconite, Hawthorn Root,  _Mountain Ash._  It took him a beat too long to recognize their contents. His mind refused to process the horror. There were faces in the glass. Twisted limbs and processed organs filled them, the smallest containing once-bright eyes and the largest, sawed off limbs and whole heads.

He was going to be sick. The murders were one thing, but he hadn’t considered that Theo would have his own torture chamber. It looked like some kind of horror story crossed with one of those laboratories back east as he experimented on his victims. Even with all the death Theo had left behind as he traveled the world, this made it all somehow worse. How many people lost their lives in places like this over the years?

The chains were secure, but Scott tested them anyways, straining against the metal that kept his hands bound behind his back. Theo had been close enough to restrain him while he’d been out and the thought made him shiver. “Hang on, okay? We’re going to find a way out of here.”

“You really think so?” The question betrayed how young the other captive was, hope and resignation both in his voice. How frightening it must be to face your own death and have to accept it, Scott would never know that kind of bravery.

“Yeah, I’m going to get us all out of here somehow.”

The young man gave Scott a weak smile. “If you’re right, you think you can do me a favor? I have a girl, Jenny, she lives about four miles outside of Dodge in Hunter’s Run. Can you just tell her that Tom loved her? I never could…”

“You’re going to tell her yourself.” Scott struggled again, trying to ignore the glassy, accusatory stare of the blind eyes lovingly preserved in jars around the room.

“That’s my Scott, always making promises you don’t end up keeping.” Theo’s voice cut in smoothly and the Marshal jerked back against his chains. “I’ll save you. I’ll stop you.” He stepped into the lantern light and stroked the back of his fingers down Scott’s face. “Till death do us part.”

Scott’s mind was a screaming blank, white noise in his ears as he fought back the bile in his throat.

“I missed you, husband.”

A quiet groan cut in on their reunion and Theo’s eyes widened in delight as he left his captive to examine the bound man on the ground, prodding Stiles with his foot. “This is him, isn’t it? Your little faithful knight? It took me a while to put the pieces together and figure out who was following you around like a good little dog at your heels.” He lifted the Sheriff’s head up by his hair and frowned. “Doesn’t look the same, are you sure? People don’t just come back from the dead, you know. Not unless they’re  _us_.”

“Stay away from him.” Scott croaked. He hated how his voice trembled, his cheeks a sallow pallor. It sharpened Theo’s smile, gave pride to cruelty. Scott couldn’t meet his eye.

“Does he know what you are, Scott? Do any of them? I’ve watched you. All this time, and you haven’t stopped running, unless it’s for him, my foolish, stubborn boy. You should know better.” He crowded into Scott’s space just to watch the Marshal flinch away, honest fear flashing across his features before he could think to mask it. He pulled Scott closer, strong fingers digging into his skittering pulse, close enough that he could see the shadows of Scott’s lashes played across his skin. Metal clanked as the Marshal tried to back away. Theo let him go, watching as hopeless terror broke across his face when his back hit the cavern wall.

“No-”

“Everything you are, and everything you fear and hate and  _need_. After all these years - you can see if for yourself. These humans are nothing to you, not anymore. They can’t offer you anything. You’re my soulmate, Scott. Don’t you feel? We’re bound by something stronger then death. I made you. I  _own_ you.”

A choked, desperate whimper caught in Scott’s throat, heat prickling across his eyes. He remembered metal twisting beneath his skin, the agonizing pressure as he drowned. He remembered burning in the sun, the voracious demands of hunger. Theo’s blade cut through his stomach, and pain shot through his senses. It was almost a mercy, to be pulled out of the memories that still haunted him.

“Scott!” Stiles howled desperately from behind them, tugging fruitlessly at his restraints as blood flooded into Scott’s throat.

Theo barely spared him a glance, turning his wrist, digging the knife deeper. “My husband and I have some business to discuss, Sheriff… But I can forgive your ignorance. Scott doesn’t make a habit of mentioning me to his whores.”

Scott slumped forward, vision dimming as he bled out around the knife. Theo leaned in close, kissing the shell of his ear. “Did he ever tell you how much he wanted me? How he would look forward to when I’d come for him and how much he begged me to be touched? He was insatiable.” He purred for the Sheriff. “He has the sweetest smile when you wake him up with your hands on his body. You might have had him, but you never deserved him. He said yes to me, not you.”

Theo laughed and grabbed Scott by his jaw, turning his face towards Stiles. “You never do learn, do you? All these secrets you keep from everyone, you can’t ever just tell them the truth. I’ll admit, I was surprised to see your knight again, I wasn’t sure it was him the first time. It seemed too impossible, but I’ve learned I can’t underestimate you, Scott. Even he can’t be there for you the way I can. I won’t ever leave you. You’re living a lie and pretending to be something you’re not, it’s time to accept what you’ve become.”

Scott couldn’t reply, words bubbling in blood from his lips as the breath in his lungs rattled.

The last thing he’d felt was the gentle press of Theo’s lips against his cheek, belying the strength in his grip as he let his husband die in his arms. Ever so softly, he whispered, “That was for Tortuga.”

* * *

 

He didn’t know how long had passed before his body arched like his back had been broken, eyes flying wide with a gasp as he struggled for air. Scott coughed blood from his lungs, hanging heavily from his chains. The wound was almost closed even if the sharp pain still throbbed deep in his gut.

“Scott?!” The immortal winced before looking up, meeting the Sheriff’s stunned expression. Fear and horror were written across his face. More than that, betrayal. Stiles had shared his bed with this man, trusted him implicitly in a firefight, and relied on him as a partner without apparently knowing anything about him. Scott wasn’t even human. The Marshal could see the question forming before Stiles ever said the words, always more of an accusation than anything else.  _What are you?_

Scott curled into himself, trying to draw his knees to his chest when his arms felt so heavy. Theo was already gone, that poor young man Tom with him. A weariness settled over his bones, making anger all the harder to hold onto. He wanted to hide away. The anchor that once kept him from fleeing was a hundred years dead now, and even if he could see the same determination in this Stiles’s eyes, he wasn’t the Fox. None of his reincarnations had been or could be; each different in their own way, each important to him, all of them facets of the best friend he could never let go of. Sometimes, it struck Scott how many people he’d lost and how badly he needed them. Theo was right. He was the only one who ever stayed with Scott.

“We still have to get out of here,” he forced himself to say, lowering his head. He didn’t want to be seen like this. He didn’t want anyone to see what that monster turned him into, but they didn’t have time to listen to him sulk. Knowing that didn’t make coping any easier.

“I don’t know why he’s doing this, or what he’s planning, but I can stop him. If you help me, I can.”

“ _Enough_.” Stiles hissed. “What’s going, Scott? What the Hell were you thinking coming here? How is any of this possible? He followed you here!”

“We’ve been hunting each other for a long time, Stiles. It’s what we do.”

“And you never thought that little bit of information might have come in handy?” The sheriff snarled. “All those times I thought you were going to get yourself killed, you couldn’t get hurt at all, could you? You have no idea what you put me through, I thought I was going to lose you!”

“It’s complicated.”

“No shit, Scott!”

The Marshal hunched his shoulders, turning away from Stiles’s rage. The truth never made things better, everything changed and they could never go back to the way things were. It was simpler to pretend to be normal, two people in love and like anyone else with a future together. Any time together was precious, but the few years where they could be together before the curse ruined everything were rare. “It was a mistake, okay? What was I supposed to say, oh hey I’m Scott. I can’t fucking die.”

“ _YES!”_  Stiles yelled back. “You’re not even human!”

Anger swept through him, matching Stiles’s rage. Anger at his partner, anger at himself for slipping so far, anger at Theo for destroying what little he had left of his humanity. “You’re right, I’m not.” He snarled, jerking on the chains like he could pull them from the wall. “You happy? I’m not fucking human, I haven’t been human in a long time. I’m a  _monster_ , Sheriff, but no one asked you to come here. I could have handled this on my own.”

“Yeah, you’re really handlin’ things here, Scott.”

“The dynamite I’ve got strapped to my ankle proves you wrong. Theo always has a plan, this time I came with one too.”

“You-” Stiles faltered for the first time, stunned silent. “You’ll kill us all.”

“No, I won’t.” Scott spat. In the back of his mind, carved into his memories was the scent of burning flesh and the taste of singed ash. “You’re going to take Tom and run. You’ll get your chance. How about you do something right for a change, Sheriff, and fucking listen to me.”

A blood curdling scream cut their conversation short. Scott saw his horror reflected on Stiles’s face, but no surprise. They tugged desperately on their chains, like anything could have chained in that one moment, but the sound of echoing footsteps forced them to still. There was blood on Theo’s hands and flecked across his shirt. It was the look in his eyes that would haunt Scott’s nightmares forever, manic and gleeful as he reached for his husband, ignoring Scott’s bared teeth and the way he fought against his chains.

He dragged his fingers through Scott’s hair, commanding him forward as he hissed, “You’re going to be a good boy for me Scott. Or I’ll cut off the good Sheriff’s fingers one by one. Do we have a deal?”

Scott grit his jaw, refusing to look away from his tormentor, nodding tersely. He might not have been able to stop him, but he wouldn’t give Theo that satisfaction. The chains came off slowly, each dull clank ringing in his ear. He had to keep Stiles safe, and even if this was just buying him time, it was all they had for now. Over Theo’s shoulder, he caught sight of the Sheriff shaking his head, quietly pleading for him to reconsider. The kick came out of nowhere, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Theo threw him to his knees, his heel slamming hard into the space between Scott’s shoulder blades and sending him to the ground.

“Crawl.”

Pride was something he couldn’t afford, Theo had taken it from him long ago. Everything he’d said had been true, Scott had once pleaded for his husband’s attention, happy when Theo had treated him gently. He’d wanted this, he’d been made to want this and they both knew it. Scott crawled across the dirt, resting his cheek against Theo’s hip. His eyes slid closed as the other man stroked gently down the back of his neck. There was nothing left he had to lose, Stiles had seen the worst parts of him now. Nothing would ever be the same.

“Can you feel it? Do you feel the power when I kill them?” Theo asked quietly, tipping Scott’s head up with bloody fingertips. “When it works, it’s like lightning, a jolt straight through you. A release.” He traced his finger across Scott’s lip, parting them hungrily. “It makes me feel young again, do you feel good too?”

The Marshal shivered, but he couldn’t deny it the way his body ached with a surge of adrenaline. Oh god, what had Theo done to that poor boy? He nodded shakily, hating himself for the admission. This was what he’d become now, he really was a monster. Scott reached for Theo, hooking his fingers into the other man’s waistband as eager as he’d been all those years ago while his husband smiled down at him, smug and victorious.

“You’re such a good boy.”

“Fuck you.” Scott hissed through clenched teeth, yanking the bloody ancient dagger from Theo’s belt and stabbing it deep into his enemy’s chest. He was a whirlwind, a living weapon honed by almost a millennia of training. He pressed his advantage as Theo stumbled back, trying to shield himself before regaining his footing and drawing a second blade. They sparred, evenly matched as Theo cut down Scott’s face, his king returning in kind across his enemy’s gut.

He forced Theo back, as far as he could muster, before making a grab for the keys Theo had used to free him. He scrambled to undo the Sheriff’s wrists, a vision straight from Hell, his eyes wild and face splattered with blood, even as his skin mended before Stiles’s eyes. He only managed to free one.

“Get out!” he snarled, the same time Stiles yelled,”Behind you!”

Scott twisted on his heel as Theo bore down on him, his dagger digging into the soft flesh of Scott’s arm when the Marshal came up to block his attack. Stiles snarled, trying to put as much space as he could between them. Each attack was brutal and painful, but it was simple. It was  _good_  in the way nothing else had been, more consistent than even his best friend in every life time. Scott pushed himself with every clank of steel, the ache in his arms, the bitter tang of copper on his tongue. Theo wanted a monster, and Scott would make sure one destroyed him.

They tore through the caverns, destroying the remains of Theo’s horrifying experiments. Whole shelves fell to the ground, covering the floor with glass. A bright surge of light startled Scott as lanterns crashed to the ground, flame licking across the ground. Theo yelled as he was pushed closer and closer to the fire, and sick satisfaction coursed through Scott’s veins as he wiped the pride off his enemy’s face. His blade sank into Theo’s shoulder, trapping him in place as Scott wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the knife that dug into his flank. They were trapped. There was only one thing to do. It was all they had left. If Theo thought they were connected by something stronger than death, so they would both have to die.

“SCOTT!”

A figure flickered behind the flames. The Sheriff brought his arms to his head, trying to protect himself. 

His clothes caught fire and Scott found a sense of relief in the pain. It would end here, it could finally be over…but Stiles. The Sheriff’s screamed at him over the whoosh of flame as it swallowed every horror in Theo’s nightmare lab and Scott hesitated. This might be the only way, but how could he condemn Stiles? He shouldn’t have come, that stupid, loyal, knight too brave for his own good and too foolish to save himself. His Stiles had once promised to protect him in another life and another land that didn’t exist anymore. How could Scott ever do anything less for him?

“You think this is going to change anything?” Theo laughed, blood oozing from between his lips. “I’m the only one who knows what you are, Scott. Your soul is _mine_ , you can’t leave me!”

Scott tore his stolen dagger from Theo’s shoulder, his enemy doubling over in pain as he struck quickly. Bone crunched under the heel of his boot as he shattered the other man’s knee and forced him down. He cut the dynamite free from the strap holding it around his ankle and stuffed it into Theo’s shirt, throwing himself back through the fire and all but tackling the Sheriff on his way. Everything hurt, his skin burned black and raw, peeling back from his flesh and his lungs filled with ash, but he kept running. Death could come for him later, he just had to get close enough to the entrance so Stiles could have a chance.

The rumble sounded distantly, a low boom that rattled the walls and grew as the old mine started to collapse around them. They tripped and stumbled in the dark, struggling to make it to the entrance as the rocks pelted them from above and the ceiling beams groaned before giving way completely. Scott didn’t have time to scream before he was swallowed in crushing darkness.

Hours later, blackened, flayed fingers broke through the rubble and into the clean air of a Kansas evening.

Scott dug his way to freedom, taking his first, greedy gulp of air. It was sweet, sweet relief, flooding through his nerves. Exhaustion was the best distraction, his body too physically drained to give his thoughts any energy to run. He still found the strength to turn back into the mine. With Scott’s arm around his waist, the Sheriff emerged from their would-be grave, favoring his right leg heavily, tired but thankfully alive. 

“Never thought I’d see those again,” Stiles whispered, staring up at the night sky with quiet awe. Scott hid a smile, carefully brushing the back of his fingers against the Sheriff’s cheeks, so quick and gentle he could still hope his partner didn’t notice. 

Slowly, he helped Stiles back to their horses, still bound where they’d been left, chewing with bored disinterest at the thick patch of grass by their feet. They scrambled for their supplies, guzzling warmed water from their flasks down like it was the finest wine in the world. Scott let it soothe his aching throat, splashing what was left against his face and wiping the dust he could off his skin. When he looked up, Stiles was watching him. Scott was going to miss him so much. His voice was shot to shit, each exhale its own fight. “If you head back south, you should hit the Mackenzie farms before dawn. Get that leg looked after, Sheriff.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Scott-”

“You can’t arrest me.” Scott said softly, his shoulders falling in a tired slump. "You’ll never catch me. I’ve been running for a long time.” 

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Scott. Not a lot of brain in that head of yours.” Scott looked up sharply, just to watch his best friend hobble towards him. He reached out instinctively, flinching once he caught himself, but Stiles pulled him close. Scott’s shoulders were frozen with tension. Stiles took great pleasure in soothing him away.

This terrifying young man was nothing like he expected. He’d watched him die before his very eyes. He was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen, but as Stiles rubbed his back, he trembled, soft, broken sounds caught in his throat. He’d never seen Scott scared, and he wished he never would again.

“You’re sure?” The Marshal murmured, tucking his nose into the curve of his partner’s neck. “Even with what I am?”

“You’re my partner, Scott.” Stiles said gently, kissing the side of the other man’s face. “That’s all I need to know. I think I can basically guess anyways. Did it hurt?”

“What part?”

“When you fell from Heaven.”

“Oh my god, Stiles!” Scott doubled over, tension draining away as his whole body shook with laughter. “I am not angel, are you serious?”

“Absolutely serious. Oh, and you owe me a new hat.”

Scott laughed again, broken and gasping as he leaned against his best friend, the love of his life. “The biggest one I can find.”

He couldn't wait to go home, but first, they had to see a girl in Hunter's Run.

 

 

It was a beautiful day, the sort songs were written about. The sun was almost too bright, after almost a week trapped in his apartment. The last of the summer days were bidding their goodbyes with a warmth that settled like a blanket over his tanned skin. Scott never wanted it to end. Maybe the next time he was out on a day like this, it could be to enjoy it.

“You sure he’s watching?” Stiles murmured, leaning back on the wooden park bench like he was stretching.

The park was a lover’s lane overlooking Beacon Hills right on the edge of the Preserve, beautiful and isolated, the perfect spot for people looking for a little time alone. The sky stretched out above them, a clear night far enough away from the town’s lights to shine. Out here, no one would notice two young lovers reuniting after a lifetime apart.

Theo was always the one who baited Scott, leaving bodies to draw him to whatever trap he’d laid. This time, they came prepared. Stiles’s apartment had been turned into a battle ground and the ancient dagger stolen over a century ago from a madman’s lab rested on Scott’s hip. All they had to do was get Theo’s attention and he wouldn’t be able to resist following them home.

“I think he’s been watching me. All of this is for my benefit, he’s got to have eyes on me somehow.” Scott murmured back. “Sorry for this.” He traced his fingers down the side of Stiles’s face, trying to find all the familiar parts that shone through in every life and every new piece that was added. It was too easy to put on a show, the hardest part would be reminding himself that this wasn’t real.

“Don’t be sorry.”  _Please don’t be sorry_. This was all part of the job. They had parts to play in a show that was so much bigger than either one of them, and Scott had been alive since the dawn of time. (He hadn’t; Stiles had asked about dinosaurs and was disappointed.) Except Stiles wanted Scott to want this, a stubborn, hopeful part of him that wouldn’t stay down no matter how hard Stiles tried to squash. Scott’s lips were as soft as he’d imagined, and the way he smiled when they pulled away made Stiles’s stomach do somersaults. This was a job, but Stiles was the one who couldn’t remember that.

He turned into Scott’s hand, kissing the sensitive inside of his wrist, startling a quiet gasp out of the other man. It wasn’t easy. They’d spent barely a week together. There were so many ways to learn how to fit together, but Stiles wanted to. He wanted to figure out what made Scott lean into him. He wanted to know what Scott felt like when he was pressed against his side. He wanted to run his fingers through Scott’s hair and hear him gasp his name, just as much as he wanted to find out how ticklish Scott’s ribs really were. It was a crush, as simple, easy crush, except there was nothing simple or easy about them.

“We don’t know if he’s watching so we gotta…” He trailed off, licking his lips, and pride settled across his chest when Scott gasped. Stiles dragged his partner down, licking into his mouth until he could drag a strangled little whine out of him, running his hands down the curve of Scott’s spine. He made him arch against him, dragging Scott into his lap, and when they pulled away, Stiles was breathing hard. Scott swiped his thumb across Stiles’s lips, wiping them clean.

“I want to take you home,” Stiles said, his heart racing, his voice a little too loud and a little too rough. Scott flushed so prettily against him.

“I’ve missed you so much.” The words were weren’t loud enough for Theo to hear them. Maybe they were a little too close to the truth. He couldn’t let himself fall like this, he’d sworn to end it years ago and it was the only way he could see this through. He pressed another slow kiss against this man who could be his best friend if given the chance, starting the whole cycle again. Loving him, laughing with him, losing him in the end no matter what they tried and having to go on alone. God, how he wanted to give in.

Scott slid off of Stiles’s lap, catching the detective’s hands and pulling him to his feet. He stepped in close, lost for a moment in the warmth of Stiles’s body before nodding. “Take me home, Stiles.”

Theo could never doubt this performance when every word he said was true.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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